


Sword and Sheath

by Atri



Category: Castle
Genre: Episode: s04e20 The Limey, Espo POV, F/M, Loyalty, Partnership, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atri/pseuds/Atri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Espo's had enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Castle fan fiction. I watched some episodes lately and couldn't get this idea out of my head. It will probably be a few chapters long and focus more on character motivation than anything else.
> 
> In canon it always bothered me a bit that Espo and Ryan didn't do anything about Castle's sudden 180 after 47 Seconds. And the whole thing got resolved too quickly by far.

Only a single lamp illuminated the bullpen, casting warm light over the hunched figure sitting at her desk long after most others had gone. He considered the sight a few moments longer and what he saw had him scowling deeply. But then he wiped the look from his face and began to move, knowing that she would feel his presence if he lingered too long staring.

“Yo, Beckett!” He noted how her shoulders tensed and then forcefully relaxed again. She looked up at him, her mouth twisting into a good facsimile of a smile. He wasn’t fooled. He knew her too long and too well for that.

“Hey, Espo.”

“Come on — drinks are on me today.”

Their eyes caught each other’s in a silent stand-off. Would she try to resist? He raised an eyebrow and saw her tilt her head minutely to the side in defeat and acknowledgement before she rose.

“Sounds good,” she said and gave the impression to the whole world that it had been her idea all along. Silently, she gathered up her things and they left the precinct. 

He knew better than to suggest the Old Haunt and so, as in the old days before Castle and Ryan, they ended up at the Blue Walker. The old cop bar had not changed at all since he’d last been here; it was still dark, somewhat dilapidated and filled with old retired cops with too knowing eyes who caught sight of their shields and welcomed them as their own. Their old booth in the back was free and soon enough they were seated, two glasses of Johnnie Walker on the house in front of them.

They didn’t speak, sipping their drinks and waiting.

For all that Beckett was a woman, she was all cop. Espo had known it from the very first moment he’d met her. And like all cops, she didn’t talk like they all didn’t talk. Cop speak was a language all its own and most of it wasn’t done with words. It drove civs crazy most times. Even Lanie, who was surrounded by boys in blue, sometimes had trouble understanding it.

Espo was all cop too. It didn’t surprise him at all that, when she finally spoke, she didn’t start with the shadow that had darkened her life for days now.

“You know,” she contemplated calmly, taking another sip of scotch, “Montgomery told me something right before he died.”

He forced himself to quench the feeling of hatred that rose so abruptly and fiercely up in him. For all that Montgomery had been his captain, he had been much more to Beckett.

“Hmm?”

“For us, there are only battles. The best you can hope for is to find a place to make your stand. And if you’re very lucky, you find someone to stand with you.”

Espo nodded. He remembered her speech. He remembered that day all too well.

“Yeah, you’ve said so before.” He paused. “We stand with you — you know that, right, Beckett? We’ve got your back.”

She smiled at him, but her eyes were bitter.

“Yeah, I know that you and Ryan do. That’s us, the three musketeers against the world: Athos, Aramis and Porthos. All for one and one for all.”

Ah, hell.

He hadn’t read the books, but he’d seen enough movies about it.

“And D’Artagnan?” That was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it?

“D’Artagnan,” she drawled, then drank the rest of the scotch in one go and continued with a voice harsh from the burn of the alcohol, “doesn’t seem interested in being a musketeer any longer, to wait.” To wait for what? Espo didn’t ask. “He needs _fun_ and _uncomplicated_.”

“Said that, did he?” Espo growled, gaining a single stiff nod from Beckett before she rose to get them new drinks. It gave him time to think it all over. Hell, it was that summer all over again. Blonde bimbos in the arm, the consummate playboy. At least then Castle’d had the decency not to parade them in front of Beckett, instead going off to the Hamptons. This time? _Fuck_ , it was a slap to the face. A _deliberate_ and _cruel_ slap to the face. Beckett could be fun. The last thing she was, though, was uncomplicated.

Beckett placed their drinks down and sat. He nodded in approval and eyed her briefly. She’d been closed off for weeks now, poker face up, guards and defenses at the ready. Beckett wouldn’t break; she wasn’t someone who broke. No, never that. But she was miserable, the radiant love for the writer that had been so clear for the world to see in her actions shadowed now with heartbreak. And she would not say a single damn thing to Castle as he walked around with bimbos in front of her and flung hurtful words left and right.

Well, fuck that.

“I’ve got your back, Beckett. Every time.”

If she wouldn’t, he would.

“I know.”

She smiled.

He nodded.

“Want to spar tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll get Ryan too. Make it a team thing.”

“Sounds good.”

As he watched Beckett get into a cab one hour later Espo swallowed down the bitter disappointment. He’d thought better of Castle. That summer he had pushed Beckett to take the leap and watched it all crashing down. Now again. No more — one way or another.

“595 Broome Street, please,” he told his own cab driver.

It was time to pay Castle a little visit.


	2. Chapter 2

The wary surprise on Castle’s face when he opened the door morphed quickly into an overly bright smile.

“Esposito!” The writer opened his arms widely. “Come in, come in!” There was no mention of the relatively late hour.

“Hey, bro,” he nodded and entered.

“You want a beer, Esposito?”

“Sure.”

The hot anger he had felt after leaving the bar had dimmed. Was getting involved in this mess worth it? Castle was his friend, had become almost a brother to him after all these years of working together, but…he remembered how miserable Beckett had looked. No, now that he was here there was no backing out.

“Thanks,” he took the offered beer. Probably not the best idea, more alcohol, but perhaps just the thing to get through this conversation.

“Look, bro, we need to talk,” he finally started when it was clear that Castle wouldn’t.

“About what?” There was an effortless nonchalance to the writer’s question that left no doubt in Espo’s mind that Castle knew exactly what this was about.

“Beckett,” he answered, studying Castle carefully. He wasn’t disappointed. Castle leaned back, crossing his left leg over his right one, and shrugged.

“Nothing to talk about.”

“The hell there isn’t.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Castle shrugged again and took a large gulp of his beer.

“You know exactly what I mean — the blondes, the barbs, the cold looks? We’re detectives; we notice.”

“I don’t see how my personal life is any of your business, Esposito!” There was a sharpness in his reply that was barely hidden. Good. At least he wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to appear.

“It’s my business if one of my best friends suffers for it!” he growled, fingers clenching around his own beer.

“Oh, please!” Castle smirked, a derisive laugh escaping his lips. “As if that woman could suffer! Besides, the blonde, whose name is Jacinda, by the way, is a _very nice_ woman indeed.”

Esposito’s muscles grew taunt, his body trembling as the hurtful words were spat at him. Thank god Beckett wasn’t here. Thank god he had been smart enough to come here without his gun.

“Yeah, _fun and uncomplicated_ — I heard!”

“Ah,” Castle leaned forward, “so that’s how it is — the good Detective Beckett is too much a coward to confront me herself and sends one of her lackeys to do so!”

“Beckett doesn’t know I’m here — and don’t you dare call her a coward!”

“I call her as she is — a lying, deceitful -“

Espo jumped to his feet, the power of the movement upending the coffee table and throwing the bottles of beer to the ground, spilling their contents. His hand grabbed the shirt of the writer, pulling him upward until they were face to face.

“Not. One. Word. More. You hear me?”

“Or what?” Castle sneered, his eyes cold. Espo had never seen him this way; so disdainful, so hateful. “You’ll go running back to Beckett?”

“Damn it, man — don’t you care about her _at all_?! Don’t you care that she’s _suffering_?!” Espo’s voice was growing louder as he fought the instinct to just deck Castle and be done with it. “At least have the decency to not parade your new conquests in front of her, if you’re so keen on breaking her heart!”

For a moment Castle’s body was boneless, something like shock flitting across his face. And before Espo could react the writer freed himself from Espo’s hold, pushing Espo back a few feet.

“Her heart? What about _my heart_? Huh?! I waited and waited and waited — and she lied! She doesn’t love me! She strung me along like some…some fool!” Castle’s words echoed in the sudden silence of the loft, the ragged emotions heavy in the air between the two men.

“Doesn’t love you?” The notion was ludicrous. “Are you blind, bro? Everyone sees it — the looks she gives you, the touches, the soft words.”

“She pities me and wants to let me down gently.” Castle crossed his arms across his chest, looking away. A little boy, sullen and hurt, lashing out in any way he could.

“Beckett, pity? No, I pity you! For your stupidity in not being able to see that the woman loves you!”

“She doesn’t! I told her that I loved her — and she lied to me about remembering!”

“Let me guess — you’re speaking about that time when she was lying on the ground bleeding out on the grass?” Espo spat, shaking his head in frustration. Castle’s obvious hurt was too big and sincere for Espo to doubt him. And it was that sincerity, the lack of the playboy who didn’t care about anyone at all, that softened Espo’s rage, made him see clearly again. “Bro,” Espo sat down, sighing deeply, massaging his forehead, “did you ever tell her that you love her after she was not in danger of dying?”

“Well,” Castle shifted from one foot to the other, “no, I didn’t — but it shouldn’t matter!” He scowled again. “She remembered! She knew how I felt and she didn’t say anything — for months!”

And, suddenly, Espo realized what the problem was. Castle wasn’t a cop and Beckett was all cop to her very core. It was banal. It happened to many of them sooner or later. They had all been caught up in the usual drama that surrounded Beckett and Castle so much that they hadn’t seen the obvious problem. Though it probably didn’t help that Beckett was, well, _Beckett_.

“Sit down, Castle.” Seeing Castle hesitate, Espo quirked his lips. “C’mon, bro. Promise that I won’t punch you if you don’t do something stupid.”

“I’d punch back,” Castle promised, but sat down. There was a hint of the writer’s usual good humor in the response, giving Espo the hope that he would at least listen. Damn it! He had come here to end Beckett’s misery, not to explain. He wasn’t that good at explaining, especially something like this. Hell, Ryan would probably be better, being all soft and sensitive and shit — but he didn’t understand the situation like Espo did; and he wasn’t here anyway.

“Castle, bro,” Espo sighed again, “Beckett’s a cop.”

“I know.” Castle furrowed his brow.

“No, you obviously don’t. No, don’t say anything — listen!” And the writer closed his mouth with a snap, leaning forward on his elbows. “Look, Beckett is a cop. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s more a cop than she is. All her life, all of her being — it’s all cop. And cops…cops are shit at talking with non-cops. You understand?”

“I…no. You’re not making any sense, Esposito. All of you talk just fine, from where I’m standing.”

Espo pushed a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Obviously not, if you’re not getting me now.” He sighed. “Ok, let’s put it like this: most cops are shit when it comes to talking about feelings. Well, apart from Ryan — but Honey Milk’s a special case. Cops like Beckett, though? Or like me? We don’t do the whole straight emotional outpouring. You told me that she said she didn’t remember your declaration. Well, it doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“What?” Apparently that was news to Castle.

“And it shouldn’t surprise you either. Beckett is emotionally stunted when it comes to relationships.” The brutal assessment wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t untrue either. “And she would have been even more vulnerable after being shot. Beckett hates vulnerable.”

“So, what — that makes it alright to not tell me for months?” hissed Castle.

“Didn’t she? Or did you, maybe, not listen?”

“Oh, come on, Esposito! I would have remembered if she had told me anything like that!”

“Haven’t you heard anything I’ve been saying?” Espo groaned. “Beckett is shit at using words. If she uses them at all in these cases I’m sure everything’s just subtext. She’s like my sister — I love her like my sister — and I’m certain that she feels the same way about me. But, know what? She never spoke to me even one single time about that. She told me not in words — she told me in actions. She had my back. And, hell, all of her actions are practically screaming how she feels about you, even now when you’ve been an ass.”

Espo fell silent and watched as a rather stupefied look settled over Castle’s face. The writer’s anger had, at least for now, taken a backseat. Damn, but this whole explaining thing was tiring.

“So,” Castle began slowly, “what you’re saying is that…in some screwed up cop way she’s been telling me that she loves me?”

“Pretty much.”

“So, what? I’m at fault for not understanding her?”

Espo shrugged.

“Not your fault, not hers that you both are speaking different languages.”

“And what now?”

“Beckett’ll always be a cop. It’s what she is. You’re not a cop, though all of us seem often to forget that. You’re usually good with subtext, with understanding cop speak. Beckett is screwed up, probably more than most other cops — apart, perhaps, from those guys over in SVU; man, bro, be thankful that you didn’t fall in love with a cop from there — they have all kinds of other screwed up issues going. But Beckett, she’ll never be fun and uncomplicated. If that’s too much for you — or too little, as it may be — then that’s your choice. The blonde’s —“

“—Jacinda—“

“— easier, no doubt. If you go that route, well that’s on you. But don’t rub it in Beckett’s face. Yeah, I know that she’s wounded you, but she doesn’t deserve that passive aggressive bullshit you’ve been pulling all these weeks.”

Espo stood up and headed to the door. There was nothing left to say, really. He’d tried his best — and he didn’t deck Castle! So, improvement. Hopefully.

“Hey, Espo!” He turned. Castle wasn’t smiling, but Espo could at least see some kind of gratitude in his eyes. “You aren’t that bad in speaking in my language.”

“Heh.” Espo shrugged. “Yeah, you know — family? You do a lotta things you normally wouldn’t. See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Castle nodded and Espo left the loft. 

Well, the situation was out of his hands now. As long as Castle didn’t start behaving like a complete asshole…yeah, his brotherly duty was done. But, man, he so did need another beer after all this emotional stuff. And, perhaps, some company.

Espo pulled out his phone and quick-dialed.

“Yo, Lanie, what are you doing tonight? You up for some Latin lovin’?”


End file.
